Of Mules and HalfElves
by or.is.it
Summary: Just a short, tongue-in-cheek piece about interbreeding between elves and men.


_Edit: Some people have asked if I plan on writing a sequel. The answer is no. This is meant as a humorous oneshot of The Professor's Romantic Myths vs The Cold Hard Facts of Science(TM), the outcome deliberately left open for the reader to consider.  
But. If any of you want to take this little bunny for a ride and spin an epic tale of love and heartbreak or something like that, I'd be very honoured and also very excited to read it, so go right ahead._

_Cheers, Or is it?_

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I've taken some liberties with the birthdates of Eldarion and Elboron, but more importantly this features MiraculouslyNotDead!Boromir. I originally had Faramir do it, but it doesn't really work with someone who thinks of the elves as the height of creation, so, yeah.

I didn't bother to have it beta-read, so feel free to flame me about grammar and spelling and whatever else might bother you.

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Of Mules and Half-Elves

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"It would require stations every 3 to 4 leagues that need to be staffed and supplied, not to mention an army of riders that are capable and trustworthy and need to be paid. I know Faramir is quite captured by the idea, but if you ask me, let's stay with the messenger birds."

Aragorn nodded absentmindedly. "Mmmh."

"Or maybe we could teach some dwarfs how to fly. And then, we'll all get naked, jump into a pool of cream and have ourselves an orgy."

"Mmmh." Another nod.

Boromir couldn't suppress a grin and poured himself a glass of wine. Finally Aragorn looked at him.

"Wait, what?"

"It's late. Maybe we should continue this tomorrow."

"Mmmh." Aragorn accepted the glass he was offered.

"So," Boromir continued, "why don't you tell me what's on your mind."

Aragorn sighed. "It's nothing, I'm just tired."

Boromir raised an eyebrow and gave a skeptical smile.

Aragorn knew that look. He had chosen Faramir as his Steward; their wives had become friends, their sons had grown up together. Boromir, on the other hand, had been away more than at home: long campaigns to the east and the south, ridding the world of the last remnants of Sauron's rule, sometimes for years at a time. Only in the recent past had he spent more time in Minas Tirith, retiring most of his military duties to younger men and resigning himself to administrative tasks. And yet it was Boromir who broke through Aragorns defenses easily, much further than Faramir ever could; Boromir could see underneath the masks Aragorn wore.

And that was what his skeptical look said. It said: "All these people might see you as their king, as this great leader, subject of countless tales of heroism and wisdom, touched by the mystical elves. And you can play along with it and put on your crown every morning and act all royal and you're doing a fine job, too; but you and I, we both know that it's a lie. You're not this person, you're not Elessar. You're Strider. You're a ranger and you will always be a ranger. So many times you have asked yourself whether it was the right decision to take the throne and what your life would be like if you hadn't. So many times you have sat in long meetings, wishing desperately to be in the woods again, by yourself again, only leaving the wilderness every now and then to have a quite beer and a good Hobbit-cooked meal. It would be just like old times again, only without Sauron breathing down your neck."

He had seen it plenty of times. And here it was again, saying: "You may be able to fool everybody else, but don't insult me by pretending you could fool me." He felt like Thorongil again, staring into the eyes of an unconvinced Denethor. It was disconcerting.

Aragorn sighed again. He didn't want to talk about what was on his mind. It was a very private matter, and to be exact it wasn't even his private matter. He could just say that he didn't feel like talking about it. He knew that Boromir would accept that and not lose another word about it. If only there wasn't a nagging voice in his mind, that insisted that it might be a good idea to talk to someone who wasn't directly involved and that Boromir tended to bring different view points to many discussions.

"Oh, very well. It's Eldarion. He and Firiel are having some problems."

"Hit a rough spot, eh? What happened? Did he spend more time with Elboron at the tavern than with her?"

Aragorn gave him an annoyed look.

"No. It's not that." He hesitated. "They are having problems conceiving."

Boromir blinked. Once. Twice. "Oh." His eyes fixed on his wineglass.

With a smile Aragorn noticed the wave of discomfort that usually came over Boromir when someone brought up women and sex. It was worth having told him just for this.

Boromir looked up. "Well, they're both young, you know, and so are you, I mean, there's no rush for an heir, and, you know, they have plenty of time, so they really shouldn't rush themselves."

Aragorn nodded. He had heard that before. Though much more elegantly phrased. "You may know me better than most," he thought," but that goes both ways, my friend. I know you're holding back on me. Well, we'll see about that."

"Of course there's no rush," he said. "But Eldarion feels a strong responsibility to have an heir, and they've been trying for years." Aragorn sighed. "Since their marriage, really. And now he's worried that she can't bear him the son they've been waiting for. He thinks that in duty to his country he might have to leave her and find another wife."

Boromir stared at him, his glass suspended in mid-rise. "What? That's ridiculous."

"Not quite that ridiculous. If she's unable to have children, he has no other choice."

There it was again, that intense stare into his wineglass. This time it wasn't embarrassment.

"Have you ever considered that, well, that Eldarion might be the one with the problem?" Boromir asked?

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Please go on."

"I was just thinking that, um, maybe elves and mankind are, um, are not quite as compatible as everyone thought."

Aragorn frowned. "I'm not sure I understand what you're saying." Boromir looked quite uncomfortable.

"I mean," he continued, "that maybe elves and men can't, um, reproduce. With each other."

Aragorn gave a short laugh. "What are you talking about? Arwen and I have 'reproduced' quite successfully."

Boromir took a deep draught from his wine.

"I can't believe I'm saying this. Please don't take it the wrong way." Deep breath. "A horse and a donkey can breed. It's their offspring that can't."

It took Aragorn a moment to realize what Boromir meant with this comparison. In a wave of anger, he rose from his chair. "Are you calling my son and your crown prince a mule?"

Boromir's embarrassment seemed to disappear at Aragorn's outburst. Instead of the wine-stare he now gave Aragorn an amused smile.

'The man shows a disturbing lack of respect,' Aragorn thought.

"Hence the request to please not take it the wrong way." Boromir said.

"Anyway," Aragorn sat down again, "this is ridiculous. It's not like we're the first couple of this kind. There have been others before us and they didn't have any problems having children. My ancestors are direct descendants of the line of Beren and Lúthien."

Boromir gave him a skeptical look. "You are aware that that was thousands of years ago, yes?"

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Well, maybe songs and tales that have been carried through countless generations of oral tradition aren't the best source of information."

Aragorn was taken aback. "Are you suggesting they're just legends? Are you saying someone made it all up?"

"Look. Bards take certain liberties. Yesterday I heard a song about the war, which ended with Frodo triumphantly marching into Mount Doom, casting the Ring into the fire yelling 'For the Shire!' We both know that that's not what happened. Maybe the man writing the song knew too; but Gollum coming in and destroying the Ring by accident while Frodo declares himself the next Dark Lord, that just doesn't work very well in a heroic ballad. And in a hundred years, maybe it's the official version of how the Ring War ended. Because the songs say so. Only that doesn't make it more true."

Aragorn still frowned. "So what do you suppose happened between Beren and Lúthien, if not what the ancient songs teach us?"

"I don't know. Maybe he was really an elf, but making him a man was more dramatic. Maybe he turned out to be one of those men who take more delight in chasing a woman than in having her and she bore another one's child. Maybe someone just claimed to be their son, but really wasn't. There's a million explanations I can think of. He dies in the stories, for crying out loud, maybe, just maybe, Lúthien wasn't able to bring someone back from the dead"

Aragorn couldn't help but feel very displeased at this deconstruction of a story he had always found comfort in.

"I think it's a little conspicuous that in both known cases of men and elves having children, the children turned out to be elves - like their mothers." Boromir continued.

"Ok," Aragorn replied, "let's for the moment assume you are right about the 'incompatibility' and that the history the elves teach us is wrong. Elwing and Eäredil, both pure elves according to your theory, had children, twins nonetheless, of which one was a man and the other an elf. How do you explain that?"

Boromir stared at him. "Are you serious?" he asked. "Do you really believe this story of Elrond and Elros being allowed to choose, whether they want to be man or elf? I mean, honestly, I don't think that's how it works. If you breed an Anfalas Sheepdog with a Lebennin Mastiff, you'll probably end up with long spotty hair and floppy ears. You don't get one or the other, and you certainly don't get to choose."

"Now you're calling the man who raised me a crossbreed and a liar."

Boromir at least had the decency to look apologetic. "I don't mean to imply that Elrond lied. I'm just saying that maybe one shouldn't take it quite so literally. Elves love to speak in riddles and images. And how would this happen? A fairy sprinkled some stardust on him and suddenly his ears grew pointier and he developed the desire to wear tiaras and tie his hair in little knots?"

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. That must have been the wine talking, he suspected. Everyone knew Boromir didn't care too much for elves and he was certainly prone to being disrespectful, but such an extend of ridicule against someone as revered as Elrond was unusual even for Boromir.

"I think it's a metaphor. Elrond chose to spend his life among the Eldar, so he chose to be an elf. Elros chose to live among mankind so he chose to be a man. Although physically he was still an elf."

Aragorn shook his head. "I don't know." They sat in silence for a while. Boromir emptied the remainder of the wine into their glasses.

"Look," he said. "Let's forget about all the history and the stories and the songs. I know Eldarion loves Firiel. It would break his heart if he had to send her away. Hers, too. I'm sure there's another way of dealing with it."

"Like what?"

"Well, assuming that she is able to have children, getting her pregnant shouldn't be too difficult."

Aragorn almost choked on his wine. "What? What? You want her to have another man's child? Now that Gondor finally has a king again, now, that all is restored as it should be, now you ask that I should lie to my people and present them an heir to the throne that really isn't? Break the line of kings? Break it after I went through so much trouble to restore it? That's ridiculous!"

Boromir looked out of the window into the starry night. He took a deep breath.

"Aragorn, I know you take the royal bloodline very serious. It's what you have been taught by your father and your people. It's a noble feat. And it was necessary for the Rangers of the North to do so, in order to preserve the line of Elendil. I understand that. But as the king of a country, the ruler of a people, you can't afford this idealism. You need to be more pragmatic. It's not about what should be, it's about what actually is. It doesn't matter whether the king is legally entitled to be king or not, the question is if he is capable of ruling his people the way they deserve to be ruled. Even if Eldarion should not be the real father of the child, I have no doubt that he would love him like he was and raise him like he was. Even if the child didn't have the blood of a king, he would still have the education, the wisdom and the experience to be one.

"You have come to idealize the kings of old, Aragorn. You and Faramir think of them as perfect, legendary heroes who can do no wrong, but they were real people; people with needs and fears and weaknesses.

"To earn the right to the throne of Gondor, you need to be a direct descendant of Isildurs'. With eight High Kings of Arnor, fifteen Kings of Arthedain and maybe another fifteen generations of Rangers, that's a chain of 38 people. Thirty-Eight generations that separate you and him. And all it takes is one. One woman forced into a political marriage who thought much more of her husband's secretary than her husband. One young Queen who was raped by her guards and didn't dare to tell her distant husband. One ranger's wife who, with her husband gone for months at a time, let herself take comfort in the arms of next door's blacksmith. Just one tiny mistake, one slipup, one child born out of wedlock, and your blood is no more kingly than mine is. How certain can you be, Aragorn, that the line was never broken? In a thousand years, not once?

"What it comes down to, is, that it doesn't matter who your father is, it only matters who you are."

Aragorn couldn't think of anything to reply to that and for a while they sat in silence again. Finally Boromir finished his wine and got up to leave. In the doorway he turned around again.

"Think of it from the practical viewpoint: If you let Eldarion send away the woman he loves for another, and I'm right about him not being able to sire a son, he is stuck brokenhearted with a woman he doesn't love and still no heir. If I'm wrong, and it is her who can't conceive, you can still think about finding him a new wife, when she fails to become pregnant"

He smiled. "Breakfast tomorrow morning to finish the discussion about the messenger service?"

Aragorn nodded and wished his friend a good night. He set down his glass and looked at the door through which Boromir had disappeared. Well, he had talked to him for a new viewpoint. 'Be careful what you wish for', he thought. He had gotten a heap full of new viewpoints. None of which he liked very much. But none of which he could discard easily. He sighed. It was going to be a sleepless night.


End file.
